The Photographs
by sister dark
Summary: Chloe Reminesces about her summer at the Planet. everything was on the cusp that summer. There she met someone who would change things forever. Jimmy Olsen. this is the story of them. CHAPTER 3 IS UP!
1. Prologue: The Photographs In the park

A/N: hey all! It's been a while since I posted anything new, I know. Here's the thing, I love feedback, be it good, bad, or just plain silly. Let me know what you think!!

if you saw the latest episode, then you know Chloe and Jimmy (Olsen, though they didn't come out and say it- but it is, we know it is!) had sex. In my fic, he's the same age as Chloe, maybe a few months younger, so that would make him 15/16 (and in my mind, conveniently happens to look like Adam Brody-the only man alive who could ever possibly bring the bow-tie back to high fashion. And for that, Adam Brody, I salute you!). In it, he's also gotten an internship at the DP.

This is the story of them.

Another A/N: I own nothing, if I did, Lana would be written out entirely…or she would simply be better written. Chloe would have a slough of male admirers, who love her for her strength and her faults, Clark would tell Chloe his secret, and maybe he wouldn't feel so alone, and Lex, I reiterate, would alternately be naked and chained to my—I mean, A A bed, and dressed in a fuzzy man sized bunny-suit. The first is a fetish, the second is just funny. And Clark would mysteriously loose all his shirts. And possibly some pants...and now we know why I am in no way affiliated with the network, or the show. Damn.

The Photograph: In the park

I am not a virgin.

I've never made allusions to the fact that I was, or still am, I just didn't bring up the fact that I wasn't. So maybe that would explain that deer-in-the-headlights look in Lana's eyes when I told her. However that look does tend to be one of her favorites…I guess I can't really fault her though. She is supposed to be my best girlfriend, and whereas I have watched all the Molly Ringwald movies I could get my hands on (as does any normal girl), I still am a little hesitant on the gossip bit of the girlfriends thing.

I don't think it was wrong to keep it to myself.

And so I sit, my comforter lazily draped across my bare knees, running my fingers lightly over the edges of the photo-box. It was a light terra-cotta color, like it was bleached from being left in the sun. The corners of my mouth pulled up in spite of it all. French script covered it, barely recognizable, but that was ok, because if I tried hard I could read it. Painted flowers were strewn about, and it all seems a little corny, and way to girly for the hard-hitting investigative journalist that I try to portray. But a girl's gotta have a vice, and mine, for all its faults, is being a hopeless romantic.

Better than being a heroine addict.

The lid's off now, fallen to the wayside, lying against my thigh. Inside is my summer away from Smallville, mine, my own. No Lana to linger in the spotlight, no brooding Clark Kent secrets, no side-long glances from Pete. It was my dream, and I did all I could to get it.

I worked for Lucifer himself…to give him information on my best friend. I thought I could get away with it, I thought I could just slide by, give him as little as possible, and come out unscathed. Well, I know now how well that turned out. I grimaced slightly.

That summer was my respite. My reprieve from it all.

My hand dips into the box, flicking over snapshots of buildings, summer friends, odd things I still laugh over—the guy who liked to preach in the shopping cart on the corner of seventh and Steven Ave, telling us all we were bound to hell because Spongebob was leading us into degradation and evil. I watch my first Spongebob ever because of that.

I hesitate for a moment, lingering over a picture of me I swear I've never seen before. It's black and white, in the park with the fish pond. I wore a white dress, but the way the sunlight is hitting me, it seems luminous, glowing almost. I'm sitting on the cement wall above the blackish-grey pool, one foot dipping in, lost beneath the water. My other knee is hitched up under my chin, my arms wound around myself comfortably, covered in a cardigan of some indiscriminant dark shade. My head is tilted upwards, catching the light, it glances off my hair; my eyes are closed, and my mouth is stretched in a happy grin.

"Jimmy. You swore you didn't take any pictures that day," I murmur, reminiscing.


	2. The cat came back

A/N: hey all! It's been a while since I posted anything new, I know. Here's the thing, I love feedback, be it good, bad, or just plain silly. Let me know what you think!!

if you saw the latest episode, then you know Chloe and Jimmy (Olsen, though they didn't come out and say it- but it is, we know it is!) had sex. In my fic, he's the same age as Chloe, maybe a few months younger, so that would make him 15/16 (and in my mind, conveniently happens to look like Adam Brody-the only man alive who could ever possibly bring the bow-tie back to high fashion. And for that, Adam Brody, I salute you!). In it, he's also gotten an internship at the DP.

This is the story of them.

Another A/N: I own nothing, if I did, Lana would be written out entirely…or she would simply be better written. Chloe would have a slough of male admirers, who love her for her strength and her faults, Clark would tell Chloe his secret, and maybe he wouldn't feel so alone, and Lex, I reiterate, would alternately be naked and chained to my—I mean, A A bed, and dressed in a fuzzy man sized bunny-suit. The first is a fetish, the second is just funny. And Clark would mysteriously loose all his shirts. And possibly some pants...and now we know why I am in no way affiliated with the network, or the show. Damn.

Chapter 1: And the Cat Came Back

My mind drifts back, sifting through memories, playing it all over in my mind once more, as I live it again. In the photographs.

I shifted into park, my foot lifting off the brake and my hands reaching for the keys. The engine died quietly, and I took a second to give myself a once-over in the mirror.

"First day as a Columnist. Third summer as an intern." I murmured, digging through my purse. "Tube of lipstick…tampon…" I muttered as I continued to rummage through the clutter, until finally, "Ahah! Mascara!"

As I applied my make-up, touching up my lip-gloss as well, I couldn't help but notice the dark circles under my eyes. "God I need a latte."

Sighing at my reflection, I exited the car, silently appraising my choice of footwear. Flats, while classy, in no way hindered my ability to walk. I could not say the same thing about stilettos.

The corner of my mouth quirked upward into a knowing half smirk as I strode down the sidewalk, to the large glass double doors.

Daily Planet, they said in big bold letters, crisp and clean. They must have redone that recently, I thought to myself, sidling past the front desk with a wave of my hand. They knew me here.

Patricia, the front desk secretary chuckled at me, her frizzy hair caught in a large clip. "Back again Chloe-girl?"

I pivoted, grinning impishly. "Like the cat. And it's Miss Sullivan, if you please,"

"Oh ho! You can put on airs with me when you stop being the girl I used to baby-sit." She snorted. "I changed your diapers girl! Don't you forget it!"

Laughing, I blew her a kiss. "Never, I wouldn't dream of it! Dad says hi!"

I took a few jogging steps to catch the elevator to the 14th floor, sandwiched between one of the janitorial staff and a few business suits.

I tapped one of them on the shoulder, throwing the brown haired man one of my most accommodating smiles, and said, "The 14th floor please,"

When the door slid open, I took a deep breath, and a felt a grin spread slowly across my face. Straightening my red tweed blazer, I entered. Copiers buzzed, the local gossips hovered like flies over the water cooler, and computer keys clacked with the sound of a story.

"Shit, it's good to be back," I said, my voice lost in the perpetual noise of the newspaper office.

I sauntered past the cubicles and copiers, until I stood before the door of the resident Editor-in-Chief, Donavan Spacey. I knocked twice, and leant against the side, a smug look on my face, like a cat who found the cream.

No more than a moment later, the forty-something editor swung the door open, the corners of his green eyes crinkling into happy crows-feet. The cigarette in his mouth looked as if the ash was going to fall off, it had burnt down so much.

"Chloe Sullivan." He stated, shaking his head in mock solemnity. "Come crawling back?"

A laugh bubbled up my throat, "Only for you Dona." I told him, patting the pocket of his pink striped dress shirt. He was gay, overtly so, but he got the job done with such alacrity and capability that even J.J Jamison of the Daily Bugle was begrudged to compliment his style. And so was I.

His arms closed around me in a hug. "God, I missed you!" he reverted back to the Editor, and held out his hand. I took it, my brows quirked up inquisitively. "Good to have you back Miss Sullivan," he announced with a wink.

I played along.

"It's good to be back, Mr. Spacey."

In the corner of the office, someone cleared their throat.

I peered over Dona's shoulder. It was a boy about my age, give or take a year, 16-17, there abouts. He wore a sex pistols t-shirt over a button down, and a Bow-tie. Quirky, I thought. Slung around his neck like it belonged there was a camera. He had his hands stuffed into his pockets, rocking back and forth unobtrusively.

Dark chocolate brown - the light-spots in his eyes were bright. That was what I noticed first about his face. His heavy lashed bright brown eyes.

"Oh!" Dona cried, as if he'd forgotten, "forgive me. Mr. Jimmy Olsen, meet Miss Chloe Sullivan."

I took a few steps forward, and leant to offer him my hand.

"Nice to meet you," I said pleasantly, brushing a stray hair from my eyes.

He gave a little half-smile, and replied, "The pleasure's all mine."


	3. Stick with me kid'

A/N: hey all! It's been a while since I posted anything new, I know. Here's the thing, I love feedback, be it good, bad, or just plain silly. Let me know what you think!!

Gah! I couldn't for the life of me remember the name of the editor for the DP before Perry White, so I made one up…sorry guys, but lets just go with it, k?

And again, I imagine Jimmy Olsen to look like Adam Brody.

Another A/N: I own nothing, if I did, Lana would be written out entirely…or she would simply be better written. Chloe would have a slough of male admirers, who love her for her strength and her faults, Clark would tell Chloe his secret, and maybe he wouldn't feel so alone, and Lex, I reiterate, would alternately be naked and chained to my—I mean, A A bed, and dressed in a fuzzy man sized bunny-suit. The first is a fetish, the second is just funny. And Clark would mysteriously loose all his shirts. And possibly some pants...and now we know why I am in no way affiliated with the network, or the show. Damn.

Previously: "Oh!" Dona cried, as if he'd forgotten, "forgive me. Mr. Jimmy Olsen, meet Miss Chloe Sullivan."

I took a few steps forward, and leant to offer him my hand.

"Nice to meet you," I said pleasantly, brushing a stray hair from my eyes.

He gave a little half-smile, and replied, "The pleasure's all mine."

Chapter 2: Stick With Me Kid

After Dona gave me a militaristic like briefing on what it meant to be a columnist for the DP, and an intern, he showed me to my desk.

I sighed in feigned bliss, "Oh, my very own cubicle!" my hands were clasped at my front, and I gave my very best impression of Lana's doe-eyes.

Jimmy chuckled from behind Dona. The editor turned to glare at him, and he hid it in a cough. Badly, but he tried. Ten points for effort.

Dona turned back to me, his face trying to be stern. "Are you saying you want something better?"

I hmmphed flippantly, waving my hand. "Your office is really nice…" I trailed off.

Dona laughed, "Not until your editor, little miss intern. You've still got a ways to go for that."

I sat myself down ecstatically in the high-backed rolling chair and perked, "Just wait Spacey. One day, you might just be handing the reigns over to me,"

He ruffled my hair with an exasperated sigh, and began to walk away, Jimmy trotting behind him obediently.

"Oh," he muttered silently, reaching down for the cell-phone at his waist. "Jimmy, go with Miss Sullivan. She'll show you the ropes." He turned to me then, flipping his phone open, "Sullivan, after you show him the basics, take him to the Photo-lab. They can show him the rest. You'll be done before that, so do me a favour, and take him to lunch? We've got nothing for him right now, so he can tag along with you----I trust you have a scoop?"

I tipped my imaginary fedora, "Of course boss."

"Good. She doesn't bite Jimmy. Miss Sullivan," he ended, taking his leave.

The boy looked a little peeved at being handed off like that, but he sauntered over. "So why are you Miss Sullivan, and I'm just Jimmy?" he questioned, one eyebrow raised. He sat down on the corner of the desk, and the light from the floor to ceiling windows caught his wavy chestnut hair.

I wondered what conditioner he used.

"Seniority. You'll get used to it. This place is cut-throat." I intoned, setting down my father's purloined brief-case. I leaned back in the roll-y chair, and threw him a smile. "But hey, ya got me. So don't worry about it. At least you've got something to do other than get coffee and donuts. That was my job for the last two summers. And even if I am a cub reporter, it's got to be better than that."

He sighed, and acceded my point. "True, true." He looked at his shoes for a moment, as if resigning himself to it all. "So, you've got big aspirations for this place?"

I laughed lowly, and nodded, reaching my hands behind my head and leaning back even further, "I'm gonna make it big. You can write that down." I advised him jokingly.

"Don't worry. It's not that hard. You'll do fine." I added.

His eyes glinted mischievously, and he grinned, "That old 'stick with me kid' bit?"

I shrugged. "Clichéd, but hopefully true."


End file.
